Ringing in the New Year


And so the hour approaches.  2013 is just on the horizon.  For some the New Year will ring in with a kiss, dropped to undiscovered lips.  For others, a familiar rhythm will be pounded into leather seats under the glow of the festivities and the convenience found behind tinted windows in the back of a limousine.

Some will toast themselves at twelve for another year’s accomplishments and the promises they make for the next 365.  I plan to ring in the New Year with a good book and patiently await the arrival of my DH as he returns from work.

The world is full of stories, everyone is unique.  My personal joy is writing the type of story that keeps you guessing; with characters and plots that excite at all levels.  Double Take is my M/F/M futuristic dystopian adventure with swoon worthy twins and a kickass heroine.  Enjoy my little snippet and Happy New Year!


Double Take - Etopia 2012

Tristan held her face in his hands. “I had a hell of a time staying away from you. Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

From the low and chopped way he said it, perhaps it was equally as hard to admit. She didn’t have to ask why. The mission had to come first. Shannon kissed him again, just thankful that the wait was over. These were his words, but they could easily have been her own. Her chest welled full with the need for more of him, calling him deeper with her beckoning tongue.

But Tristan’s lips pulled away with a few lingering sips of her mouth. “If we don’t stop this, you really won’t get any sleep tonight,” he said as he crouched slowly in between her legs and slipped his hands onto her naked thighs.

Her tongue wisped past his slightly parted lips, chasing him with sudden urgency. “If I’m lucky,” she purred.
Pryor reappeared at the threshold to the bedroom. “Ah yes, she’s feeling better now, isn’t she?” he crooned, sounding pleased. “Bath’s ready.”

Ready. That was the operative word.

Shannon tossed her head in his direction, feeling surprisingly sure of what she wanted. While Tristan slathered her in sweetness, his brother relished challenging her with his own brand of controlled subtlety. Pryor had curled her toes from the very first moments in her office. Super confident, just short of cocky, she felt like a kitten ever seeking the bowl of milk he placed at his feet.

“Coming, Pryor,” she called. He stood there with arms folded, all six feet two inches of him waiting expectantly. Shannon thought he couldn't look any more irresistible, and the way he summonsed her just made her want to do his bidding.

Tristan held his hand out and she took it, allowing him to pull her from the chair. He led, she followed. As they passed through the doorway, she took a handful of Pryor's shirt, calling him behind her. With a wicked grin, he grabbed her wrist, shaking his head slowly and bringing her fingers to his mouth instead, making it perfectly clear that in his bedroom she didn't call the shots. She watched them lock gazes for a moment, the twins communicating with matching blue eyes. Tristan’s hands dropped to the hem of her sweatshirt hanging just past her butt and they disappeared underneath, while Pryor dragged firm fingers down her leg, pulling one sock and then the other from her pointed toes.

Her pussy throbbed with the promises their fingers whispered to her skin. They danced among her open pores, tensing her muscles with attempts to reach for more of their touch. Fingers that had probably taught more than a few knuckled lessons from the end of their fists ran over her body like languid drips of nectar from a juicy peach.

Shannon shuddered through a ragged sigh. “Maybe…I could skip the bath and we could go straight to bed.”
Pryor looked up at her from below, cupping his hands around her foot and kissing her ankle. “No rush, we have all night.” Just the way he said it gave her reason to be patient.

Tristan pushed his palms flat against her ribs and snaked into her sleeves, lifting her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in just a purple lace bra and thong. She watched Pryor's reaction, the need rise in his eyes. The sudden chill of air on her bare skin was instantly erased as he enveloped her with hands seeking all of her at once. Tristan tossed the shirt to the floor and claimed her hips at the thin strips of fabric there. From behind, his tongue entertained the small space next to her ear that she never knew was so sensitive. She rose on tiptoes and draped her head back over his shoulder. Tristan gripped her jaw and pulled it toward his mouth. 

There she found out just how intoxicating strength mixing with tenderness could be. He bit her lip through a growl, tempting her with the allure of his rugged ways. A sharp bite followed by liquid sweetness in the twirls of his tongue that made her knees weak.

Pryor rose up in front of her and sank his lips onto her neck, starting there and blazing a wet trail downward, over her collarbone, round the lacey edge of her bra, and across her fluttering belly. Then, without a skip of his hungry mouth, he slid her thong down to her ankles as he balanced on his haunches once again.

His hands reached firmly around her hips and now his lips lingered at her newly exposed sex. Shannon felt a silky drop escape from her depths, revealing the wild cauldron of desire bubbling inside her. Pryor's warm puffs of breath on her nearly hairless pussy made her whimper against Tristan's mouth. With a final peck, Tristan released her from his kiss and allowed her to gaze down on his brother's extended tongue catching the dew from the tip of her clit.

The tease nearly crippled her. Tristan held her steady against him, saving her from buckling legs.

"Pry, take it easy. We promised her a nice long bath," Tristan murmured against her earlobe as he unhooked her bra.

"That we did," Pryor agreed and kissed the inside of Shannon's thigh. "But she looks like she wants company."

Shannon stood nude between them, anticipation ringing like an alarm clock between her legs while they toyed with her. Separately her attraction for each of them was almost unmanageable. Together their influence on her was all consuming. Nothing else mattered more at that moment than the knowledge of Tristan's mouth wandering back to hers while Pryor rubbed his thumb against her bud. Hell yes she wanted company. 

Shannon wanted to be in between them for as long as possible. Forever if she could somehow manage to freeze time. Maybe that wasn't too much to ask. After all, she was entering a realm of pleasure that no mere mortal ought to have a right to experience.

"How dirty do you think I am?" Shannon asked playfully in an attempt to mask her desperation.

Pryor stood up and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Let's find out," he answered.

She watched keenly as they undressed. Pryor stripped away his sleeveless undershirt to reveal that the tattoo on his arm continued around his shoulder and down his side. Shannon thought to ask him about it, but later. Now she was only concerned with getting their clothes off as fast as humanly possible. Tristan unbuttoned his field shirt and Shannon helped him with his belt. Her fingers stumbled over the metal latch and she was suddenly giddy with excitement. She couldn't wait to have him. She couldn't wait to have either of them. The twins were as perfectly formed as she could have wished for. Unleashed in full arousal, two of the most delicious cocks wept for her at once.

Pryor stepped into the water first and turned on the jets. Warm water churned violently, like the rush of adrenaline stampeding through her veins. He reached out and grabbed her hand, toppling her onto him with a splash. Shannon burst out with an exhilarated giggle only to be silenced by his demanding tongue.

She straddled him and his cock pressed firmly within her delicate folds while his fingers sank deep into the flesh of her ass, rocking her back and forth over the length of it. The need was rampant in her womb. She whipped her hips faster, working to bury his swelling bulb into her slickened cunt. It was a start.

Pryor grinned. She could feel his lips stretch over his teeth inside their kiss. "You need to slow down there, darling. All night, remember?"

Shannon's voice cracked with frustration. "Oh fuck, I'm going out of my mind. I need… Please… " She cast her hands onto his brother's thigh as he stood over them at the edge of the tub. "Tristan?"

He bent down and cupped her cheek. "Shhhh, baby. We're going to take our time with you."

A chill shimmied down her spine at the sound of Tristan's heavy whisper. She opened her mouth, her tongue reaching for his cock as it bounced rigid and ready in her face. He allowed it to rest on the surface, sliding the head gently into her wet warmth. Shannon sucked him in, delighting in his taste, knowing the truth of his flavor after only imagining for so long. He slid his other hand onto her face and pushed slowly to the back of her throat and pulled out again.

Just one stroke. Shannon's back straightened. "Later, I'll fuck that pretty mouth of yours, I promise," he said. 

"Right now, we get to make you ours." She wondered what that meant. Theirs? Could she be any more theirs? The only two men to consume her thoughts, to make her dizzy in their presence—she couldn't imagine them having any more of her.

Tristan stepped into the tub at the opposite end. Kneeling as the bubbles enveloped him to the waist, he lifted Shannon from her hips onto her knees. The water swirled as her pussy skimmed the surface, tickling her like a sadistic feather. He let her languish there while she pressed back toward him, seeking, pleading for his touch. Yet, it was Pryor who connected first, dusting her face with his lips, hypnotizing her with the softness. She swayed and stretched and prayed for the tightness coiling inside her to ebb, to be released. Then a modicum of pressure presented itself at the very borders of her entry. She hoped. But Tristan had only placed his four fingers flat against her pussy.

She begged. “Please…”

Tristan bit her shoulder, hard enough to make her cry out while his fingers only rubbed her softer, sliding easily among her current of slickness unmistakable in the bathwater. She cried again. Pryor sucked on the spot where his brother’s teeth left the dull ache of divots in her skin. While he kissed her shoulder, he eased her clit between two fingers under the water. Tristan’s fingers continued to sweep at her, working in tandem with Pryor, together engulfing her sex with a tactile assault of every exposed nerve ending. Even in the water, they painted her pussy with her silky juice and she poured for them what seemed like an endless stream.

At the end of her rope, or so she thought, Shannon leaned back into Tristan’s hand again, spreading her legs 
wider to open herself for more.

Pryor found her tongue for a moment, twirled it with his, and squeezed her clit between his fingers, dangling her further off of the cliff. Thiers. A quivering, begging mess was what she was, wound up like a spring.

“You should see her face, Tristan. I think she’s going to pop,” Pryor whispered.

Tristan traced a slow finger round the surface of her inner labia. “What do you think, Shannon? Can you climb higher?” His voice was heavy with grit as his fingertip flicked suddenly into her shallows.

“Oh God, Tristan. I need you inside of me.” She reached for his cock, straining in the gurgling water in an awkward attempt to have her way. “You’re so hard. Please, I want it.”

“She isn’t ready yet. She can still put a sentence together.”

Tristan laughed at his brother’s joke and sent his finger deep.

“You’re toying with me,” she almost sobbed.

Tristan blew the words in her ear. “This isn’t a game, baby.” Another finger slid inside her and pulled a long moan from her lips. “We’re only getting started loving you.”

Old School Sexy

I'm known to have a slightly compulsive personality.  My latest kick is corsets.  Ask me how many real deal corsets I own and the answer is zero, until yesterday.  So now I eagerly await the arrival of the steel boned piece of beautiful torture my fore-mothers fought to banish into history.  Thanks to a late night internet raid, I am drowning with anticipation for slipping into my new obsession.

Corsets, I've found, have as much personality as any other article of clothing, if not more. I probably perused over 150 different designs before finding one that fit my own personal style.  (If there's one thing I love as much as feeling sexy, it's shopping.)  I also scored a pair of black rumba panties and I have the perfect pair of patent leather Mary Jane stilettos to go with it.  That's the new love of my life on the left.

Now I'm completely hooked. (No, that wasn't an intentional pun.)  The newbie that I am, I'll be trolling Amazon and Ebay for more corset deals.  Let you know when I graduate to the handmade, artful varieties I can only dream about, like the ones pictured below.





Hot Autumn Nights Blog Hop


What makes a Hot Autumn Night?

As the weather cools in the Northeast US, we finally get a chance to build that long awaited fire in the fireplace.  Stretch me out on the rug in front of it and let me enjoy the flames licking at my skin.  Let the mysterious flickers swirl with unpredictable revelry around the room. The first fire makes me forget all about how much I like a cool glass of white wine on the back deck after a scorching summer day.  Now, I’ll swirl liquid garnet in my over-sized goblet and cherish the way it burns so good in my throat.  This is Fall.  The slight note of smoke in the air mixed with fruity red wine.  A silk robe falling off my shoulder as the heat of the fire warms.  A flirtatious eyebrow raised in a rhetorical question: Do I want some company?  

Stoke the fire, sweetheart and be my guest.

As an author of erotica and erotic romance I've written two stories set during the season of autumn.  Give Thanksgiving new meaning and read an excerpt of a scintillating first time lesbian experience in For the Good posted in my Free Reads section until Dec. 2 (Published in Wanton Women, Xcite Books 2011) 

By Surprise, a romance between a committed gay couple and the female childhood friend of one partner.  The garden is waning in Nicholas and Paxton’s back yard, but Jodi brings something fresh and new to their relationship.  By Surprise is my bestselling book from Etopia Press. Enter to win a free copy of By Surprise here!  Good luck and thanks for hopping by.

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Muscles and Mistletoe - Blog Hop


How could The Holiday Season be upon us already?  Hurricane Sandy hit and sort of turned my whole clock inside out.  Halloween never happened, Thanksgiving snuck up on me and before I know it I’ll be up until three in the morning wrapping gifts.  It’s a whirlwind.  So now that I’ve gorged myself on turkey and stuffing I’m making time for a different kind of feast before the ultimate hustle-bustle kicks in full blast.  Have your fill of manly muscles before it’s time to hang up the mistletoe.   If you're like me you'll scoop up some good erotic romances to unwind with after all that shopping.  If I can point to one great book that spanned the winter holidays it would be Gabriel's Rapture by Sylvain Reynard.  Nothing hotter than getting it on in you childhood bedroom.  Happy Holidays everyone and don't for get to enter to win a copy of my latest releases, Double Take and By Surprise! 







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Is vanilla the new chocolate?


Someone surprised me recently with the thought that a darker character is all the more hot because he appears at first glance to be such an average everyday guy.  I’ve written Jack that way intentionally in my current work in progress Polished, because darker Dominant side is his way of coping.  He’s a good guy at heart and might not even need his kinks if he felt more in control of his life.  In truth, the darkness doesn’t obscure his light the way he thinks it does.  His darker side lets his light be seen all the more clearly.

When Jack gets dark, he takes on a sexy new dimension.  That filthy mouth of his curls toes. The darkness comes on suddenly, surprising you and sending sparks of excitement up your spine.  “First you’re going to get your sweet little ass down from there and bend over the counter while I show you who the fuck is the boss around here.”  I love a man that keeps you guessing, especially when he even surprises himself.  Sure, bad is good.  But good, being bad is absolutely delectable.

We get to know Jack a whole lot more later in the book.  A sneak peek into the start of this complicated MMF menage love story is linked above.  Enjoy.

Six Sentence Sunday time.  Now for a peek at Pryor Davies from Double Take.  



“You don’t even know the effect you have on people.” Pryor was inches from her, caressing every bit of her face with his stare.

She certainly had no response for that, at least not a verbal one. Her body, however, didn’t seem to have a problem finding a reaction. The way his eyes floated over her with a string of thoughts parading carefully behind them made her skin prickle with heat and her blood rush south.
Six Sentence Sunday!  More from Double Take ... meet Tristan Davies.






She nodded, but it wasn’t just his company she wanted. In the room, circulating around them like thick smoke was the feral attraction she couldn't ignore.

He stood over her, lean muscle and olive skin flowing under his khaki shirt. Shannon had known his tenderness, recognized it in the glimmer of his eyes when he looked at her, even through the narrow eye sockets of his mask. She knew his strength, too—his uncompromising intent, the fight that wouldn’t be distinguished. The two sides of Tristan…she desired both.


Six Sentence Sunday #1

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY! - I'm not a virgin anymore. This is my very first SSS offering and I'm starting with a little something from my latest release, Double Take. Let's start with the beginning, shall we?



Shannon took in the sight of them. Two sleek chiseled frames, perfectly male, unmistakably powerful, standing in nothing but the low hung cotton underwear they’d slept in. She followed the valleys at each of their hips, suddenly grateful for the ten sets of military style sit-ups neither started the day without. Identical bodies stood languidly over her only an arm’s length away, radiating with confidence and compassion and sex. She couldn’t love either of them more, though her reasons for loving each had proven unique if not complex. The Davies twins were one of a kind and no one else but Pryor and Tristan could better prepare her for what she needed to do.


Tough Girls Need Love Too


I’m a firm believer that a character doesn’t have to be perfect to be loveable. It’s often more interesting to have a look through eyes that are slightly jaded and bear the scars of life.  The human experience isn’t always all peaches and cream.  When we have the opportunity to grow with a character through her anger and fears, we get the privilege to experience her joy with more intimacy. 
A “bad attitude”, as others would call it, is a lot of fun to write. I love the chance to let my inner bitchiness out.  But at the root of that sour tongue is usually a damaged ego just crying to be stroked by the right person.  It isn’t that a tough girl doesn’t want to be taken care of, it’s just that she’s been forced to take care of herself. It’s a hell of a lot more scary to risk another let down in a long line of disappointments than to keep on trucking in survival mode.
I’m toying with a new story that doesn't yet have a name.  But here’s the budding start of a romance that I hope gives a peek into the heart of a tough girl who needs love too.



"Ow!"  Hot coffee in my lap while I'm trying to merge onto the freeway is not the way to start the morning—impossible to manage the gearshift and a Styrofoam cup at the same time.  I might be a girl who's good with her hands, but this would take a magician.  It’s pretty fucking ironic to be delivering dry-cleaning with a stain on my pants, and so goes my day.
I would turn around and go home to change, but that would make me late and I can't afford to lose this job; not while I'm on parole. 
"Come - on!"  Not another old lady puttering her way to Wal-Mart, I can't take it.  I should try to be patient; it's my need for speed that got me locked up in the first damned place. Boosting cars with my ex and his friends seemed like a great way to spend the summer, at the time.  Too bad I was the only one who took the heat for it and that jerk took off to God knows where.  
And there it is again, gaining on me quickly in my rear view, taunting me like it does everyday—that sleek sculpted beauty.  I can't hear its low rumble over the pounding base of hip-hop swelling my eardrums.  But, sure as shit, I can sense that Camaro hovering behind me every time.  The windows are tinted black—as black as the paint job.  I have no clue what’s inside, but by the way that thing moves, I'd say it's got to be male.  Of course, I could be wrong.  After all, I drive like a bat out of hell most the time.  Not today, though.  Today my coffee cup has me driving like a little girl, and I can only watch as he pulls up next to my VW GTI, waiting for me to make a move.  It slows, waiting, looking perhaps.  I imagine he is looking right at me, asking me … do you want some of this? 
I'm thinking about tossing the stupid coffee right out the window, throwing my second-hand hatchback into fifth and giving him a run.  Too late, he's already gone.  Tomorrow.  No, tomorrow I'll still be on parole and a speeding ticket is the last thing I need.
"You got eight deliveries before 12:00," my boss barks, with the raspy jingle of the entrance bells punctuating his command behind me.
I don't even say hello, because he never bothers to answer me back.  I just take the clutches of tailored suits and pretty dresses belonging to somebody with a better life and get back in the car.  Fuck Tom and his lack of manners.  When I made it clear that he wasn't going to get any bonus pussy for hiring an ex-con, he was done with me.  Now, I get about three sentences out of him a day; suits me just fine.
The job isn't all bad.  I know my way around this town better than anyone, so I can always manage to finish well ahead of when I'm due back.  I'll hit the desert outskirts and kick up the hatch back in the sun, let it beat down on me with its healing warmth.  Behind red-hot eyelids, I conjure my own version of revisionist history and rewrite the last three years of my life.  Mostly, I imagine I don't get caught.
Everyday by dusk, I'm finished with my stops, but Tom always makes me straighten the place up before I go.  It’s a mad rush to get out … in time to catch the Camaro.
The whole thing is ridiculous, yes, I know.  But, it's become a bit of a routine for me—a game of sorts.  We must work the same hours, and live in the same direction from town, because if I leave at exactly 5:30, I'll see him for sure, and it thrills me every time I do. 
In the evening, he doesn't pass me.  He rips around the spattering of commuters on the freeway that runs through my town, only to hover like a specter behind me, matching my speed for the three exits I stay for.  After that, I don’t know where he goes or what he does. I can only imagine and I have a pretty damn good imagination.
When tomorrow comes, I'm ready.  No coffee this time, my hand is poised on the gearshift as I obsessively glance in the rearview, looking for him.  Today I'll see if he'll chase me, I'll test our little game, force his hand and see who’s holding the cards.  The energy I feel radiating from that sleek, black testosterone-laden machine could be a complete fantasy.  Today I'll give a little pinch and see what happens.
Today, however, there's no Camaro.
It’s a disappointment, though who would want to admit it.  The whole thing is silly. 

“Get these over to Club Minx over on Rte 85.” Tom barks just before quitting.
“Wouldn’t you rather make the delivery yourself?” I sass him with cock of my head.
“Ha, ha.  Very funny.  Just make sure they pay you everything, crafty sluts tried to stiff me the last time.”
Not hard to get over on you, I quip silently, and let the door swing closed behind me. 
The strip club isn’t hard to miss.  It’s the last neon sign at the edge of town, beyond that it’s just coyotes and moonlight.
I pull up and wonder if I’ll recognize any of the strippers inside.  In a small town like Gopher Creek every one ain’t exactly going to be a lawyer or a veterinarian.  I’m sure I had homeroom with at least one of those chicks.
Inside, the action hasn’t really started yet, but the place is all polished up and ready.  Curiosity about what goes on in this place had me beg my X-boyfriend to take me, but it turned out the only place we ever went together was court.  What a loser.
Nobody even glances in my direction; bartender and the waitresses are all busy setting up.
“Hey, I have a dry cleaning delivery.”
The guy with the shaved head wiping down the bar doesn’t even look up.  “Over there,” he says with a thumb in the general direction of the back.
I save my thank you for someone who gives a damn and sling the clear plastic covered corsets and studded boy shorts over my shoulder.  Through the curtain and down the hall, the techno music is getting louder and the smoke is getting thicker in my lungs.  I quit when I got out, another dirty habit left behind. In front of the door where it’s all coming from is a guy with a look on his face that tells me he recognizes me too.
“Last time I saw you, you were trying to steal my car,” he says grinning too much to be talking to the girl who popped his door lock last summer.
 Exactly what Mr. Perfect Football Captain is doing in this place, I have no idea.  I fix my jaw and remind myself he isn’t better than me.  “I didn’t know she was yours, promise.”
He laughs.  “Would it have mattered if you did?”
The wallpaper is looking pretty interesting right about now.  It beats staring back into those prying blue eyes.  I shrug.  “I don’t know, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“We had auto shop together.  We weren’t friends, Zach.”
“No, I guess we weren’t.”
“Can I give these to you?” I ask, doing my best to get the hell out of there.
“I’m covering security for my cousin.  I’m not the housekeeper.”
“The attitude is new.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.  Kind of had a fucked up morning.”
“I kind of had a fucked up year.”
“Your own fault,” he says with a bashful smile, reaching for the dry cleaning.
The way he’s looking at me makes my stomach hurt.  “That will be forty two bucks.”
“Hang on.”  He knocks on the door and it opens with a pile of curls and a pair of pouty lips.
“What ya need, cutie?”  she says, doing as little as possible to cover herself since even I can see the spill of her cleavage in his face.
Zach blushes and it makes me want to punch him in the arm.  “Got your dry cleaning here.”
“Oh, thanks babe.  Come in.”  She ushered him through the door and shut it before I could say anything.
“Hey!”  I bang my fist next to the glittering star in the middle. I’m not sure what I’m more pissed about, the way she snatched him away or the fact that she’s about to stiff me.  I bang some more.
Zach reappears and I snatch the two twenty’s and leave the ten in his hand.  I’m three steps in middle of heading to the front door when I figure I should give an explanation.  “Don’t worry about the two bucks, I don’t have any change.”  Truth is I couldn’t take another second of being in there with him and that gorgeous face of his and the way he was chewing on his lip like he had something else to say.  What else was there to say?  Zach was a dead-end daydream I started in high school that was nailed shut the minute I got caught in the Mustang convertible his dad apparently bought him for graduation.
By the time I get outside, I’m practically running to my car.  

Hail to the V



So when I first saw this commercial I stopped everything I was doing and watched with a bemused, and slightly agape smile. Thank god for DVRs because I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A TV ad acknowledging the power of the vagina? I mean really, in the US, where we are so twisted inside-out about what is sexist and what is man-hating--what is virtuous and what is slut-keteering? Did I really see that? 

 Of course it's a big laugh and completely over the top. Or is it? Maybe the delivery is over the top, but the message might be right on. If we think for one moment that a man's sexual desire has nothing to do with his rise or demise, we are giving the human animal too much credit. Surely everything isn't tied to the nether regions; it's possible to motivated by the desire for power,or self-awareness or fame and fortune. But a whole lot of the time that boils down to what kind of woman a guy can get if he achieves those things. 

It got me thinking. Can you imagine for one moment and world without vaginas? Disregarding the obvious procreation problem for a sec, what would the hetero fellows do with their time without a woman to 'appreciate' their good work? I know I'm much more interested in sex when I've been impressed by hubby fixing the garage door without me asking. I'm 100% certain he knows this.

I'm only half joking. I mean even an erotic writer knows that life doesn't revolve entirely around sex. But any woman who's had the delightful experience of her man sniffing up her skirt (quite literally, perhaps) knows what I'm saying is true. There is a hell of a lot of power in between those legs and it isn't anti-progressive to tell it like it is. Hail to V indeed!

The Other Olympic Games


ESPN’s article about the rampant debauchery sure to be taking place this weekend in Olympic Village has given me the biggest flashing green light to put a voice to the fantastical wonderland of sexy fun I’ve always imagined it to be.  I mean, my god, how could it not be? In fact I think it’s wildly hypocritical to ignore the obvious.  Athletes are amazingly in touch with their bodies and what they can do with them.  Hmmm…. let’s see.  What do people tend to do with their bodies?

So I’m as patriotic as the next red blooded American and I appreciate the sentimental image we all cherish of the stoic and dedicated athletic hero.  But what about all that sexy muscle saturated in adrenaline.  That’s going to make for some very healthy libidos.

If only I could find a way into the biggest party noted for the most washboard abs per square foot in the universe.  It might just be worth picking up archery.  (As I crack open this bag of Cheetos)  I mean, there can’t be an age limit for holding a bow and arrow, right?  ;)

It Takes a Village
Copyright Alyssa Turner, 2012

“Is that a fish?” The name on his warm up jacket says Diederich and the look on his face says that he doesn’t understand a word she’s said.  “On your chest.”  She points to it, grazing her finger over the tail as someone bumps her from behind.  He smiles and pulls the German flag on his warm up jacket away a little more.

It is a fish.  She can see it better now, especially since he’s flexed his pectoral a little to make it swim. 

“Ha, neat trick.”  Maybe he knows who she is.  In the US, she’s suddenly a household name for the two gold medals she won on beam and floor exercise.  Just in case, she’d better introduce herself.  She has to yell because the Brazilians are pumping their brand of hip-hop at full tilt  in the crowded hallway. “I’m Cait.”

He nods.  “Cait Mi-zi-ohh-la”

She shrugs.  “Close enough.”

“Lukas … Luk,” he says tapping the fish with his index finger a few times.

“Nice to meet you.”

Someone bumps her again, shoving her into his arms and it occurs to her that she’s the only one blushing.  Unfair advantage.  But this isn’t about fairness is it? This is about the last night in the Olympic Village and the looming promise of swift goodbyes in the fuzzy light of the morning.

Her voice flutters.  “I saw you swim.  Bronze, not bad.”

His turn to shrug.  And then he has his fingers in her hair and creeping up the nape of her neck. “Gold,” he whispers. “You are gold.”

Unrushed, but inevitable none-the-less, he eases his hot tongue into her mouth.  Their kiss makes up for their clumsy words.  Words are over-rated anyway.

But then there is German being spoken around her and Luk takes a last slurp of her bottom lip before turning his head towards his teammate.

It isn’t clear at first, what they are saying.  Then Luk tucks his finger under her chin, his purple lips pursed with a hopeful question on them.  “More?”

She’d never turned from a challenge before.  More reps, more rotations, more, more, more.  Now the question hangs in the air in front of her like a bright ripe cherry.

With growing confidence, Cait reaches over to the zipper pulled high on the other swimmer’s chest.  As she tugs it down, the grin is spreading on his razor clean face.  She’ll keep it simple.  “Yes, please.” 

___

This is just a start.  Do you ever imagine what goes on after dark in the Olympic Village?  It's definitely something to think about.

Double Take - COVER REVEAL



I'm just loving the cover for Double Take! It captures the vibe of the book perfectly.  It's all about contrasts.  You get a hint to the gritty, raw side of the story here.  In post-apocalyptic New York, all the glitz and prestige is saved for the privileged employees of the one and only corporation still around. Shannon Morris, a high powered executive, couldn't be more removed from the suffering at the bottom of her glass tower in the sky.  We'll follow her as she finds out where she really belongs.


Those gorgeous torsos in the background?  They belong to our heroes; twin brothers Pryor and Tristan Davies.  I totally love their brooding expressions.  It's so right for their characters.  They are serious guys, who like to have serious fun on occasion, when they aren't plotting a take over of Eaglecorp Global, Inc.


Thanks to my cover artist Mina Carter for her vision.  You're the best Mina!


Double Take releases 8/3/12 from Etopia Press. Get it on Amazon, B&N, All Romance Ebooks and other online retailers.

Trailer treats! Double Take is coming soon!

You've got to watch this with sound.  Rockin' track!
Release date is around the corner, so here's a sneak peek.



Fit To Be Tied (power plays and all that good stuff)

As a kid I used to love to play tug-of-war ... Especially with boys.  For me the power struggle between women and men is simply inborn; something about proving myself, I bet.  But as the boys grew bigger than me and were suddenly men, the jockeying for power took a whole ‘nother twist.  Now it’s the idea of a strong alpha type guy respecting me enough to let me in on the fight, but strong enough to whip that tug of war rope right out of my hand and tie me to a chair with it ... figuratively speaking, of course.  Well, mostly figuratively. 

But the struggle doesn’t end with physical strength. Women wield power in a very different way, though it may take a bit of growing into that power before it’s fully effective.  A lot of what I write about works around the power dynamic of my characters and the ways they manage to indulge and reign in their influence on the one they pursue.  Sex, love and power are a potent threesome, ever-present since the birth of humanity.  Somethings just never get old.

My M/M/F Fascination

What is it about two beautiful men wrapped around each other that ignite the imaginations of so many women?  Expanding our horizons past the familiarity of our own sexual experiences is a powerful aphrodisiac.  Forever we’ve expected straight men to drool over cutie-pie lesbians rolling around on a picnic blanket.  But the fascination flows in both directions.     In my early years of sexual exploration I snagged my first copy of Playgirl while “naively” looking for some hetero stimulation and found a much more interesting bonus publication shrink wrapped inside.  That was my first peek at manlove and I’ve been a fan of the genre ever since.

It’s commonly agreed that no person is all gay or all straight.  That Kinsey’s scale of homosexual and heterosexual ratings gives us a way to quantify our same-sex tendencies is old news at this point.  Still the attachment to labels is almost as conspicuous as it was when Kinsey made his ground breaking studies.  Nicholas, one of the main characters in my new release, By Surprise, struggles with the idea of being attracted to a woman.  Having self-identified as gay, it’s frightening and confusing to feel his body react in her presence. I truly enjoyed exploring this idea and walking the journey with him towards the realization that his body wasn’t at odds with his mind.  In the end, his heart would speak for both. 

For fun I took this ultra-simplified version of the Kinsey study.  Can’t say I was surprised by the results.  Would you be?  As times have changed and the discussion about sexuality has broadened, many feel that Kinsey’s scale is way too broad to correctly designate a person’s degree of sexual preference. Too broad or too narrow, labels only serve to limit.  I don’t need a study to know that.

PayPal – book retailer’s new warden of decency





If there is one thing I like, it's convenience.  For that reason I’ve been a big fan of PayPal.  I love not having to get off my ass and fish my credit card out of my purse when I’ve scored some new something I didn’t know I needed until it ended up seducing me from my LCD screen.  I totally dig the idea of not having to go through all that trouble to write a check, and god forbid, mail the damn thing to someone when we’re going halves on a weekend excursion.  I’ve been more than grateful to have a record of my incoming and outgoing transactions at my fingertips.  BUT, none of that is better than the convenience of reaching over and reading what ever the hell I feel like without someone else’s opinion getting in my way. 

When someone asks me why I write erotica, the first answer that comes to mind is why not?  But to put a finer point on it, writers mostly write with the intent to connect with their reader, to draw a reaction from them, to open their mind and leave a lasting impression. There isn’t a genre that does all of that in a more visceral way.  And in pursuit of these goals, should an author of erotica choose to indulge the topics that PayPal deems obscene, are we to simply dismiss their censorship as a loss of convenience?  This is a loss of our rights. 

As a teenager a certain author captured my attention like none before.  V.C. Andrews introduced me to the idea that sometimes things happen in our human existence that are alarming and alluring for that very reason.  I didn’t suddenly want to do my brother.  I wanted to discover the secrets to writing such gripping plotlines that dared to stretch my imagination away from safe suburbia.  Ms. Andrews had a hankering for incest in her plots.  I had fascination for the idea of crafting such a taboo into something palatable.  In Flowers in the Attic she managed somehow to make it even seem beautiful.  Incredible.

V.C. Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic remains a classic among teenage girls.  It isn’t erotica—not by a long shot.  But it’s best selling status clearly illustrates that plenty of people are interested in reading about incest.  Fiction is the place to explore, to peek behind the curtains you would probably never want to draw open in reality.  I won’t apologize for liking V.C. Andrews.  I can only hope to weave a tail as craftily around such a challenging subject.  According to PayPal, her books aren’t worth the money they can skim from the Ebay auction you might score an old copy from. Are they really that uptight? As of now the number or book retailers suffering their sudden need to dictate what the world should read is growing, fast.  Shame on you PayPal.  Where do you get off?

 And don’t even get me started with the 100 year old classic, The Blue Lagoon ...

-Alyssa









There's something all at once ingenious and nostalgic about Xcite Book's line of discreet erotica.  The Secret Library line of collected stories just might be more of a turn on for its prudish appearance.  Touted as a book you could read in public or leave on a night table, it evokes images of well pressed women indulging themselves without the boundaries of decorum.  I LOVE IT!  You won't be able to judge these books by their cover.  But perhaps you can take a gander at the heavy hitters in the table of contents to know that you won't be disappointed.  To top it off, the cover is made of velvet--just perfect for its hoity-toity Victorian vibe.  One thing I just can't resist is a healthy dose of irony.  I'm published with Xcite and I soooo want to call one of these prissy looking gems my own.  I'll certainly be looking out for calls ... you never know. 

Behind The Headlines


All's fair in love and politics ... yes?              How many times have we wondered why the "disgraced" wife of a licentious politician stands in stoic solidarity at his side while he spills his guts on live television.  The scene has played out more times than we can count.  (Some recent incidents come to mind.)  It's always the same questions that pass the lips of those who care to gossip about it afterward.  Why does she stay?  How could he embarrass her like that? I would never!  Pundits hint at it, opponents decry her plight.  I've always wondered if the image tells the entire story.  In Hypocrites, my story featured in Rachel Kramer Bussel's Irresistible, I examine the lie that's told to the world because the world commands it.  Who are the hypocrites?  Well, that's for you to decide.